


there's a first time for everything

by circus (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comedy, Crossdressing, Drag, Humor, Humour, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-17
Updated: 2011-09-17
Packaged: 2017-10-23 19:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/254270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/circus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam rather likes their getup for the lesbian vampire hunt.<br/>Dean has different feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	there's a first time for everything

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Batman](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batman/gifts).



“Why are we doing this again?” Dean growled, eying himself appraisingly in the mirror.

“Because you suck,” Sam offered lightly, pulling on tights.

“Sammy, I am _serious_ ,” Dean moaned half-heartedly through the halter he was trying on.

“Come on, girl, you look great!” the other grinned, testing himself on six-inch heels.

“Girl,” Dean repeated, dully. “I’m a girl,” he sighed, and avoided all contact with reflecting surfaces that would prove his statement right. He looked over at Sam. Sam was enjoying himself, all gangly, tall, awkward, confident - and _hot_. Sam and hot. As a girl. Dean shook his head quickly and looked away.

“This isn’t cool,” Dean pleaded. And he was honest. It wasn’t cool. Not how it looked, not what it was, not what he felt in his… well, not what he felt.  
“Yeah, well, lesbian vampires aren’t cool either. We have to _blend_ ,” Sam emphasized, as if cross-dressing was obviously the only option to do so and that Dean was a macho retard to resist.

“But what are we going to _do_?” Dean’s wig was driving him nuts and he clawed it off, voice piquing.

“Shrieking, now, just like a girl,” Sam smirked.

“Sam, I will _not_ \- “

“Stand my behavior?” he completed, batting mascara-laden lashes at him through the mirror, carefully applying lip-gloss.

Dean gave up.

Either Dean had a girl in him locked up somewhere that didn’t mind this hunt, or 15 year old Sam looked _enticingly_ good in drag. Or both. Dean didn’t even want to think anymore.

Meanwhile, Sam innocently wiggled his fingers, purple nails flashing at Dean and branding themselves into his brain. Dean backed away.

“What. Did you do.” And it wasn’t even a question. Dean was simply in shock. In denial, one could say.

“I did my nails,” Sam stated, and Dean gasped.

“Where the _fuck_ did you learn to talk like that?”

“What, like this?” Sam asserted, voice higher and convincingly girly.

“Yeah, like that.” There weren’t words to describe Dean right now. He was beyond miserable. He was apathetic and confused and at the same time disgusted and calm. There was a swirl of emotions inside of him, and he was inside of them, at the very center, and that is a very uncomfortable, unenviable position to be in, regardless of drag or occupation. _I’m drowning_ , he thought to himself, despondent. _I am drowning in the waterless depths of a deep brown sea that’s actually more of an abyss than a sea. Or something._

“Come on, Daneel, time to get some petticoats for you!”

“Are you _fucking_ serious, Genevieve?” Dean spat.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Of course not. Who wears petticoats these days?”

Well, Dean’s pretty twenty-year-old, eighth grade geography teacher - one Amanda Lynn - did, but he didn’t quite say it out loud.

“Alright, Dean, seriously, we have to do this.”

“Yeah.”

“Act like girls.”

“Yeah.”

“Talk like them.”

“Yeah.”

“Readjust the shoulder straps from time to time with a far-off look in our faces.”

“…Okay.”

“No wonder you look weird, Dean, you aren’t wearing your wig!”

“I could have a boycut.”

“No, you _can’t_! You have a man’s jaw!”

“Yeah, and I happen to be proud of it, thank you very much.”

“I know, okay, it’s hot and stuff, but it’s not feminine.”

Dean stopped thinking. Again. Sam said his jaw was hot. He admitted that Dean was good-looking. Maybe he wasn’t the only with a screwed head today.

Sam was approaching him now, with his wig, and it looked odd. A female Sam walking on heels, taller than usual, with shiny lipgloss and mascara and long black hair. With a bra size sufficient to catch attention. And a miniskirt. It looked odd, but it didn’t look _wrong_ , for some reason. But oh God the wig in Sam’s hands. Dean Winchester was about to wear a red wig.

“Here you go, Daneel,” Sam smiled sweetly, and the lipgloss glittered.

“You are a bitch.”

“Finally, the gender matches,” Genevieve sighed as she stepped into the Impala, left-tight-clad-high-heel-adorned-leg first. Dean had to admit, Sam did drag better than him any day. Not that they did it often. This was the first time. Dean was also going to make sure it would be the last. Imagine coming home with Dad back from his hunt and finding them… like… this.

“Where are we going again?” De - _Daneel_ asked, politely, readjusting some stray curls on her forehead. “South, on Rind Street. It’s around three hours from here. Big city and all,” was the girlish-toned reply.

 _This is going to be a long, long drive_ , Dean whispered to himself, as the thongs began to cut at his thighs.


End file.
